Rock Bottom
by SamcedesHumanNature
Summary: AU Mercedes Jones, international pop star, was on top of the world. But that world comes crashing down when she develops a strong addiction for the party life. And the only one who can save her is the last person she expected to walk back into her life.
1. E! News Breaking

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did, this show wouldn't stink as much! LOL!**

**A/N: So, ok, this is my first attempt at writing a full fledged Samcedes chapter story. So, please bear with me. I wrote this story years ago for a certain favorite male celebrity of mine, and recently for OR characters on Valent Chamber. But I thought I should bring this over to the Glee world with Samcedes as the main. This is definitely AU. So, I really hope that you like it. Please read and review. Let me know what you think.** **I don't have a BETA, so I'm flying solo on this one.**

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"We have just received some late breaking news here on E! News." Host, Ryan Seacrest spoke into the camera. "Reps, confirm that RnB/pop star, Mercedes Jones, has just checked herself into Promises Rehab Center in Malibu late last night…"

The camera switches over to recent footage of the famous powerhouse vocalist, toting along beside bodyguards, as they push and shove their way through a tightly knit crowd. She was casually dressed in a pair of dark, denim skinny jeans, black sandals, and a black, sweatshirt. She was currently using the hood of her bulky item of clothing to shield her face from the bright lights and flashing coming from the paparazzi.

"Over the past several months, the pop star had been headed on a complete, downward spiral. Partying into the wee hours of the morning. Pictures showing a completely intoxicated Mercedes passed out in the back of friend's car. Driving recklessly. Not showing up for scheduled interviews and canceling televised appearances. She's even pulled a couple of panty_less_gatemade famous by predecessors of the past, Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan, and Britney Spears. And there have been signs of drug_ abuse…_

…the singer's love life isn't much to brag about either. She's had a string of failed relationships with some of Tinsletowns' leading men, including a 72 hour marriage to Savage Assassins front man_, _NoahPuckerman. All stemming from her failed relationship with mega male pop star turned actor, Sam Evans.

Close family and friends worry that the fallen pop star would do something drastic to herself, so they staged an intervention and convinced Mercedes to enter rehab.

We are also told that Mercedes will have to complete a thirty day stay at Promises, before she will be released.

We all here at E! wish Mercedes the best of luck…_"_


	2. Group Therapy

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee or its characters.**

**Warning: Mercedes kind of has a potty mouth...LOL**

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**-Mercedes**

Sitting here surrounded by a bunch of unknown faces, I watch in pure and utter boredom, as I am introduced to my first day of group therapy.

Group Therapy…

What the fuck is up with that? Here you are sitting here with a bunch of strangers, whining constantly about the mistakes you've made in your life, expressing your feelings. _Bullshit_! Here's a feeling I'd like to express: **FUCK THIS**! I don't need this fucking group therapy shit. Hell, I don't need this damn place. But yet, here I am listening, or trying to drown out, these whack jobs as they moan and bitch about their damn feelings. Give me a _fucking_ break!

How the hell did I get here? Oh, right. I apparently had one too many jack and cokes. Or I occasionally forgot to wear panties. Come _on_. When did it become illegal to go commando every once in awhile. It's fucking 8,000 degrees in LA. Damn, I'm twenty-_fucking_-three years old. The last time I checked, I was old enough to make my own decisions. But my publicist _slash_ fashion consultant _slash _soon-to-be former best friend, Kurt Hummel, and manager, William Schuester, called in a fucking intervention, and forced me into this dump. I don't need rehab. What I need is to fire those incompetents as soon as I'm set free from this joint.

"Mercedes…Mercedes…"

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I hadn't realized that my was name was being called, until the weirdo next to me, tapped me on the shoulder.

"What?" I looked over to the ring leader of this circus, Dr. Watkins.

"Mercedes, it's your turn to speak now." She said, pulling her glasses from her face, sitting them down on her lap.

_Hell to the no_! I raised an eyebrow in her direction. She's got to be kidding right. There was no way in hell that I was stand here and tell everyone, especially people I don't know and could care less about, all my personal business. I get enough of that already.

"I pass." I spit, picking the imaginary lint from the growing hole in my jeans.

Dr. Watkins sighed heavily. "Come on, Mercedes. All you have to do is stand up and tell us why you're here. We're not here to judge." She picked up those same glasses and crossed her legs.

I pulled the same ripped jean clad knee to my chest. "I said I pass. I'm not going to do anything I don't want to do." You know what, fuck this shit. "Besides, if you want to know anything about me or this situation, pick up a damn magazine." I placed my leg down and stood to my feet. "I'm pretty sure you'll find something in there."

"Mercedes, where are you going? Session isn't over yet." Dr. Watkins called out to me.

I turned back to face her. "It is for me. You guys can finish up with your whining and complaining, I'm going back to my room." I turned heels and exited out of the room.

I continued my way down to the room where I was currently sleeping or _not_ sleeping in. However you want to look at it. _Stupid, fucking nightmares_.

I turned the knob on the door and walked in. The room was plain and boring. Definitely not my taste. Except for the furniture, you could mistake this place for prison. Just without the bars and the bad food. Well, it was a prison for me anyway.

_29_ days…

I look down at the two beds in the center of the room. Mine was a complete mess, while the bed next to it was neatly made up, that a quarter could bounce with precision. I had to have a damn neat freak as a roommate. Hell, I had to have a roommate…

Sighing, I made my way over to the window to see that the rain had gotten worse and was beating heavily against the glass. Sliding down to the floor, I held back the tears that were trying to force their way through. I really wanted to just cry. So, fucking bad. I didn't want to be here. I didn't need to be here. I hated this feeling. I just wanted it to all go away. I needed it to go away…

_There was just too much blood…_

_Her lifeless body drowned in it…_

_This wasn't real…_

_It couldn't be real…_

_She couldn't really be gone…_

"Mercedes!" I snapped back into reality when I heard the sound of my name being called. I looked up to see the dark eyes of Santana Lopez, my roommate. She was now standing above me, hands on her hips, and her dark hair pulled into a high pony tail with soft tendrils hanging past her shoulders. "Mercedes, what's wrong? I've been calling your name for awhile and you seemed completely out of it." She plopped down on her bed. "What were you thinking about?"

I shook my head and stood to my feet. "Um, it was nothing. I was just lost in space, I guess." I walked over to my bed, plopping down myself. I grabbed a pillow, hugged it closer to my chest, as the pain in my stomach intensified.

"Habla conmigo, chica." She wanted me to talk, but I just glared her way. "_Or_ not. Why did you cut out of session?"

I sighed heavily, tossing my pillow to the side. The pain in my stomach decreasing, as the images of _that _day began to fade. "Because, San, I don't want to waste my time sharing feelings, when I could just by my time here, and then get the hell out."

"Mercedes, escúchame, part of your rehabilitation is to share your experiences with others. Believe you me, when I first came here, I was like no mé gusta, I don't do that sharing shit. This ain't no Barney, ok. But then I realized that this place does help. I mean, I would like nothing more than to leave here to be with Brit and hold her in my arms. But for my sake and hers, I need to be clean and sober. And besides, you've only been here one day. Give it some time. Trust me, it gets better."

I scoffed at that. There is no way that this could get any better. "Yeah right."

You see, Santana was on her fifteenth day here at Promises. She was your typical rich party girl, who had blown most of her inheritance on her drug habit. But things got worse when she had finally come out of the closet to her Abuela, and was basically disowned. Drowning in her sorrows of vodka, mixed with cocaine, with a little of vicodin, she nearly OD'd on her girlfriend's couch. Brittany, her girlfriend, gave her an ultimatum; drugs or her. Santana chose the latter.

* * *

**-Sam**

"Come on, Sam. It's turn, step, thrust, and kick." My choreographer and best friend, Mike Chang Jr, pointed out to me, as I had been having some trouble remembering the steps to the dance that I'd been doing on tour for the past year.

"I know, Mike. I keep forgetting." I groaned in frustration, pulling my hands behind my head, as the sweat beads poured heavily down my face. "I'm sorry, bro, but my head is not in the right place."

Mike sighed heavily. "Alright. Lets just take five." He said, patting my shoulder, signaling to the other dancers behind us.

I let out a deep breath, as the both of us walked over to Mike's fiancée and my personal assistant, Tina Cohen-Chang. She handed both of us a dry towel and a bottle of Gatorade.

I was so frustrated with myself. I was currently doing some last minute rehearsing for a show that I had to do tomorrow night for a benefit concert. Some kind of cancer research, or was it AIDs…I don't know. All these things tend to run together, when you're as busy as I am. Anyway, I had been trying to get this one move down, but my head wasn't clear. It was clouded with other things, that I could focus properly.

I was thinking about _her_…

Mercedes Jones…

…_my _Mercy.

It had been almost three years since we broke up, but I could never get her out of my head or my system. I loved her more than anything. But I let her go. I walked away from her. At a time when she needed me the most, I became a coward, and left. And now I had nothing to do, but to watch as her life unraveled before my very eyes.

I blame myself. I blame everything on me. I know it was my fault. I was the cause of her out of control behavior. Every time I picked up a magazine or turned on the news, it pained my heart to see her go through that. And it pained me even more see her and a new boy toy of the month parading around town like it was nothing. Especially that fucker, Puckerman. This was not my 'Cedes. This woman wasn't the girl I once knew. The Mercedes I knew was a happy, carefree person, with a huge heart.

I had gotten a call from Kurt Hummel, Mercedes' best friend. He called and told me that he and Will had convinced Mercedes to go to rehab. I wanted to be there for Mercedes, but Kurt insisted on all that is GaGa (his words, not mine) that it wouldn't be a good idea for me to come around. And he told me that he was going to call me back when Mercedes had been checked in.

That was two days, and I hadn't heard from him.

Of course I'd be worried about Mercedes. I'd always worry about her. When I broke up with her, I never completely broke things off. Well, my heart didn't. I kept in close contact with Kurt and some times Will. I would call to check on things with Mercedes. I would never call Mercedes herself, because I was afraid that she would reject me.

And she had good reason to…

"You ok?" Tina asked me, as I wiped my face with the towel.

I nodded. "Yeah, I've just got a lot on my mind." I told her, before opening the bottle of Gatorade and taking a long swig. "Kurt hasn't called?"

Tina shook her head, leaning into Mike's embrace. "No, I'm sorry." I sighed. "Look, Sam, I'm sure Mercedes is fine. She has good people taking care of her. And I know that you want to be there for her too, but Kurt said that it wasn't a good idea, and I agree with him. Trying to reconcile your friendship with Mercedes will only complicate her recovery even more. Maybe you should just wait awhile before reaching out to her."

Again, I nodded, taking in what Tina said. "I get that, Tina. Believe me, I do. But I hate just standing by and watching as her life just falls apart. I can't do it anymore. It hurts too much."

"We know, Sam," Mike chimed in, "but Tina is right. Mercedes is getting the help that she needs. Just trust that it's going to be ok."

"Yeah," I sucked in a deep breath, "I'm sure."

The sound of my ringing cell phone rang loudly. Before Tina could answer, I grabbed it from her fingers and answered the call myself. "Hello? Kurt?"

"Hey, Sam." Kurt spoke.

"What's going on?" I didn't want to waste any time. I needed to know. "Is she checked in? Is she ok?" I made my way over to a secluded corner.

Kurt paused, before answering. "Mercedes is fine, Sam. She's all checked in. She has thirty days for her to complete the detox program in order for to be released."

"And what about visitation? When can I see her?" I eagerly asked. I know people kept telling me it wasn't a good idea, but I didn't give a shit, I needed to see her. I needed to know for myself that she was going to be ok.

Kurt sighed heavily. "Sam, I don't think that's a good idea. Mercedes has been through enough, and she doesn't need you traipsing back into her life three years later."

That hurt. That really hurt. But I don't have anyone to blame, but myself. I was such a fucking coward. "I know, Kurt, but just…please. I need to see her."

There was a long pause, and for a second I thought Kurt had hung up on me. "Ok, Sam." Kurt gave in. "Next week, is the start of her visitation. I'll call you then with the details."

Relief coursed through me. "Thanks so much, Kurt. I owe you so much."

"No, problem, Sam. But I do have to say that if you fuck this up in anyway, and my girl gets hurt again, I swear on all things that is Lady GaGa, I will cut your boy parts off and mail them to different parts of the Philippines. You got it, Blondie."

I cringed, thinking about Kurt's threat. "Kurt, I'm not gonna hurt her. I promise."

"I'll believe when I see it." He waited a beat, before, "Listen, I have to go. There is a lot of damage control that is needed to be taken care of. So, I'll call you next week when I get the official details."

"Thanks so much, Kurt."

"Again, Sam, it's no problem. But remember our little talk. Break Mercy's heart and it's snip-snip. I'll talk to you later."

I lightly chuckled, knowing that Kurt was definitely not kidding around. "Alright, Kurt. Bye." I ended the call, and made my way back over to Tina and Mike.

"So, everything's ok?" Tina asked. "Is Mercedes ok?"

I nodded, handing my phone back to her. "Yeah. Kurt says she's all checked in. He's gonna call me next week to let me know about visitation."

Tina's face fell. "Visitation? Sam, you can't possibly…"

I cut her off. I don't need this. "Don't, ok. I'm going to see her. I have to see her."

Tina nodded and backed off. There was no use in arguing with me anyway. "Ok."

"Hey, Sam." I turned to see Mike and my back-up dancers already back in position. "You ready now?"

I take in a deep breath, finishing off the rest of my Gatorade, handing the empty bottle toward Tina. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Alright." Mike cued up the music. "And 5...6...7...8..."

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**So, what do you think?**

**Is it good or bad?**

**I need to know!**


	3. One On One

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee or it's characters or any of the real life people featured here.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE ONE: Wow! Thanks so much for the reviews, alerts and favorites! I didn't think that people would like this. So, I'm so glad that people do. You are the best! **

**AUTHOR'S NOTE TWO: I've decided to post the next chapter today. I was going to wait til the end of the week, but I thought what the hell. This one still doesn't have any Samcedes interaction. The next one will, I promise. But this chapter gives some insight into Mercedes' issues. I don't have a PH.D in psychology, so I'm not going to pretend I know. I just go by what I see in movies and TV shows, and what I get from the good ol' Google. So, please, I hope you enjoy this next installment. **

**Flashbacks are **_italicized_

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**A Week Later…**

-Mercedes

Staring out of the window, I sighed in complete and utter boredom…_again_. It had been a week, since I've been in this place. And things had gone from bad to crucially worse. Could my life suck any more than it does right now? Hmmm, I think not!

"Mercedes, are we going finally talk or are you going to stand there, looking out of the window for the rest of the hour?" Dr. Watkins voice broke me out of my thoughts.

One last sigh, I turned to face her. Dr. Leslie Watkins was a very beautiful woman. She had a warm, caramel complexion, mid-length light brown hair with golden highlights, and the most sparkling blue eyes I've ever seen.

"That was the plan." I shrugged my shoulders, before folding my arms across my chest.

This time I wasn't surrounded by a bunch of strange buffoons. It was just Dr. Watkins and me in her office. I'm guessing, she felt that it would probably make me feel better, if it were just she and I, to get me to talk. But, like last week, I have nothing to say. So, for the past half hour, I had been quietly, staring out of the window.

Now it was her turn to sigh. "Mercedes, honey, you can _not_run away from this. You have to talk to someone about your problem."

I scoffed at her comment. "My _problem_? The only _problem_I have is the fact that I have to be here, in this shitty place, answering bullshit questions about my personal life." I turned back to the window. Ain't nobody got time for that. I sure as hell don't.

"Mercedes, would you please have a seat?" I ignored her and continued to look out of the window. It had started to rain again. "Mercedes, if you didn't have a problem, why did your manager and _best_friend suggest you come here to get help?" Because they're fucking idiots, who will soon be out of jobs. "How are we going to get anywhere if you won't talk to me?" Still ignoring the fuck out of this woman. "Fine," she smacks her lips together, "you don't want to talk about your addiction." So, that's what it is now? "Then lets talk about something that you will talk about." She waited a beat before, "I want to talk about your mother."

My face paled and my heart stopped. "What _about_my mother?" Whipping my entire body around, I turned to face Dr. Watkins.

"Ahhh," she tapped her pen on her clipboard, "now we're getting somewhere."

"I don't want to talk about my mother." I shook my head in a tense manner, turning back around to the window once more.

"Why not, Mercedes? According to your records, it's been three years since…"

"I know how long it's _fucking_been." I snapped, gripping the seal of the window tightly. I sucked in a deep breath, as those images flash through my head.

_There was just too much blood…_

_Her lifeless body drowned in it…_

"Tell me, Mercedes. You and your mother were close, correct?" The sound of Dr. Watkins voice is drowned out by those images.

_"Mommy?" I leaned over her, as the tears, spilled in buckets, cradling her in my arms._

"Tell me, Mercedes. What kind of mother was she?"

"That's none of your _fucking_business!" Again, I snapped, fighting back the tears.

_"Mommy, please say something. Please, don't…" The vomit churned in my gut. _

"Just say something about her, Mercedes. Anything…" Dr. Watkins voice was soft and calm.

"I don't want…" the pain turned in my stomach, "I don't want to talk about it." I mumbled loud enough for her to hear, while wiping the one tear that was slowly falling down my cheek.

"Mercedes…"

I turned around, nearly losing my balance, before cutting her off again. "I said I don't want to _fucking_talk about it!"

That's the third time I had snapped at her in a five minute period. Didn't this bitch get the hint? There's nothing I want to talk about.

"Mercedes, you're going to have to talk to someone about this. Keeping your feelings about situations, as your mother's, bottled inside will only get worse for you. It's obvious, your mother's death is hitting you hard, and it's causing you to act out in a terrible manner. And I'm afraid that if you refuse to get the help you need, you're going to hurt yourself." She said straightening her glasses that were perched on the bridge of her nose.

I nodded, clapping sarcastically. "Wow, someone is smart. What? You learn all of that at your fancy college?" I took in another deep breath, blocking those images. "And what do you know about what I go through? You don't know _shit_about me or my life."

"You're right, Mercedes. I don't know anything about your life. But, if you talk to me and tell me what's going on, maybe I can help you with your probl…"

"I. Don't. Have. A. Problem." This woman was really getting on my nerves with this _problem_bullshit.

"Ok, Mercedes, what about your dad…"

I chuckled viciously. _Really, bitch_? _Really_? "You just don't get it, do you? When I say I don't want to talk, that's what I mean."

Dr. Watkins clasped her hands in annoyance. "Why are you being so difficult, Mercedes?"

"Why are you being such a nosy bitch, Dr. Watkins?" I reiterated, rolling my eyes. "Can I please go now?"

Dr. Watkins swallowed hard, looking down at her watch, sighing heavily. "Well, it's been forty-five minutes. I guess we can pick this up tomorrow after lunch." She said placing her pen and clipboard down on her desk.

"Oh, joy." I mumbled sarcastically.

"Mercedes, I really wish that you would put that wall you have, blocking your emotions, down. We are never going to get anywhere, if keep putting up that road block."

I didn't even have a dignified response for that. I just rolled my eyes once more in irritation.

She took her glasses off and placed them down on her desk as well, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, on the bright side of things, it's visitation day for you."

I sighed heavily. Something else I was not looking forward to. "Whatever." I mumbled walking toward her door. I didn't even say goodbye, as I opened the door and let myself out.

Who the hell did this woman think she was? She didn't know me. She didn't know all of the shit that I had been through these past couple of years. And she damn sure didn't know shit about my mother. She had no fucking right to try to pry into my life. Asking me a whole bunch of bullshit questions. And she actually thought that I have a problem? I don't have a fucking problem. I have a fucking migraine from this damn place. I didn't ask to be here. I should have never agreed to come here in the first place. My life is a helluva lot better out in the "real world" than it is being cooped up in this place for thirty days, with a bunch of nut jobs trying to tell me how to live my life.

Thirty days was starting to become a lot longer than I expected.

Walking into my room, I headed straight for my bed. Santana was no where in sight. So, I plopped down on my bed, but not before reaching into my back jean pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. I scooted over to the headboard, unfolding the paper. I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears, running my finger leisurely across the photo.

It was crinkled and nearly torn from all of the many times that I had folded it and put it in my pocket, but it was my favorite picture of her. My mother. She was so beautiful that day. It was the day she married my father. I was there that day too. You couldn't really tell, because she wasn't that far along in her pregnancy. She told me that she hadn't even told my father yet. She also told me that that was the happiest day of her life. Apart from the day I was born.

I carried this picture every where I went. I wouldn't want to know what I would do, if I lost it. This is the only thing I have left of her that wasn't tarnished by him.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I folded the picture and placed it back in my pocket. I curled myself into the fetal position, anticipating on getting some much needed sleep. Because I had been having lack of that as of late. Stupid nightmares kept me up at night.

But, as much as I wanted, my eyes hadn't even closed all the way, before there was a knock at the door.

"Mercedes Jones." I heard the person say my name.

I sat up and turned around. "What?"

I saw a petite girl who looked like she belonged in high school, with medium length light brown hair, which was secured by a giant pink bow headband, and light brown eyes. She was dressed in hot pink ankle cut pants, tan wedges, and a pink/white stripped cardigan. I noticed that she had a name tag on. Was this the way they let their staff dress?

"Miss Mercedes, you have a visitor." The sound of voice matched with the rest of her.

Groaning inward, I got up from my bed. Great, it starts.

"You can follow me." Sugar -did I read that right? Her name is Sugar? What were her parents smoking? Anyway, Sugar told me, as she and I walked out of my room and down the hall.

As I followed behind, I was barely paying attention to anything this Sugar girl was saying. I think she was talking about how she got hired to work here. Her dad was rich, but wanted her to have work experience, so, since he helps fund this place, she got hired. Or something along those lines. And she might have mentioned that she owns all of my albums and was so happy that I decided to get help.

Great, just one more person that I needed to be up all in my business. I was trying not to pay attention to anything this girl was saying, but she just kept talking. And she would shut-up.

Leaving the building, we began walking outside to the visitor's area. It was a beautiful, sunny day here in Malibu. Much better compared to the crap we had been having for the past few days.

Cinnamon -that was her name right? Well, anyway, talks-a-lot and I continued to walk me towards the visitor's area. We stop at a vacant table and she turned to face me.

"Well, Miss Mercedes, this is our visiting area. You can have a seat. Your visitor will be here shortly. They are still checking in. You'll have one hour for your visit and then I will personally come and get you. Then it will be time for lunch. Any questions?" She seemed extra cheery. I hate extra cheery people.

I cleared my throat, before sitting down. "Pepper, right?"

"It's Sugar." She corrected me, kindly pointing toward her name tag.

"Right. Ok, _Salt_. Before, you traipse back off into Crazy Town, can you at least tell me who my visitor is?"

She shook her head from side to side, smiling from ear to ear. What is wrong with this child? "I'm sorry, Miss Mercedes, I was told, specifically, by the visitor, not to tell. They wanted it to be a surprise."

Really now? "So, Sesame, if this person is some crazy psycho stalker, would you be the person held responsible for my untimely death?" I spat back at her.

She chuckled lightly, but of course, I didn't find anything funny. At all. "First, it's _Sugar_." She pointed to her name tag again, like I really cared in the first place. "Second, I promise that of all our visitor's are thoroughly checked before each visitation. We wouldn't want anything to deter from our patients' recovery. And besides, I highly doubt this person is some crazed, psycho stalker, anyway." Why did I get the feeling she wanted to let out a fangirling squeal at that moment? "Anything else?" She asked and I just waved her off. "Ok, great. Have a nice visit, Miss Mercedes." She smiled, threw a pair of bright pink, heart shaped sunglasses on her face, and walked away from.

Where the hell did she get those sunglasses from? Did she have them the entire time? Oh, well…

I sighed again, and my eyes silently roamed around the back patio. The way Nutmeg was talking, I really wondered who my visitor was. I had a strong feeling that it was Schuester or Kurt. More likely, Kurt. Knowing Schuester, he was probably sniffing behind his other client's butt. But that was something for another time.

It didn't matter, either way, both of them were going to hear an earful from me.

"Mercy?" A few moments later, I heard my name being called from behind me.

I stopped the task of picking at my nails, and I swallowed down the lump that was now growing in the back of my throat. I definitely knew that voice. And it wasn't Kurt nor Schue's.

"Mercy?" The person spoke my name again.

Maybe if I keep my back turned, they will go away.

Maybe I was hallucinating.

Yep, being here a week and I'm already crazy.

The person sighed, before speaking again. "Mercedes, I know you hear me."

I take in a long, deep breath before finally standing to my feet. I slowly turn my body around before I am face-to-face with my "surprise visitor".

* * *

**Ok, so Dr. Watkins thought it was a good idea to have Mercedes in a one one one session. Turns out it wasn't that great. Or maybe it was. We find out Mercedes is struggling with her mother's death. But of course, she doesn't want to talk about it. So in true fashion of denial, she is just a major bitch to Dr. Watkins. **

**But it's also visiting day. Poor, Sugar. Sorry, but I couldn't resist with this one. LOL!**

**I know you all know the answer to this, but who is Mercedes' surprise visitor?**

**Again, thanks for the reviews, alerts and faves. I hope you enjoyed this one. Until next time!**


	4. Hell

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did, this show wouldn't stink as much! LOL!**

**A/N: Thanks so much you guys for your awesome reviews, favorites and follows. You guys are the best. Now onto the story. Where we left off Mercedes had a surprise visitor.**

* * *

_Same Day..._

**-Mercedes**

"Mercy?" A few moments later, I heard my name being called from behind me.

I stopped the task of picking at my nails, and I swallowed down the lump that was now growing in the back of my throat. I definitely knew that voice. And it wasn't Kurt nor Schue's.

"Mercy?" The person spoke my name again.

Maybe if I keep my back turned, they will go away.

Maybe I was hallucinating.

Yep, being here a week and I'm already crazy.

The person sighed, before speaking again. "Mercedes, I know you hear me."

I take in a long, deep breath before finally standing to my feet. I slowly turn my body around before I am face-to-face with my "surprise visitor". My eyes connect with a pair of bright emerald green eyes. In an instant, flashbacks of my life with him flooded my mind. From the happy times to our bitter ending.

"What…" I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." Anxiousness and nervousness read all over his face.

"Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, before stuffing his hands into his pockets, completely ignoring my question. "How are you?"

I sighed heavily, folding my arms across my chest. Him being here, caused the blood to boil through my body. But apart of me, a _very small_ part, wanted to run into his arms, like I used to do all those years ago. "I'm fine, Sam. Now answer my question, why are you here? I mean, three years ago, you wanted nothing to do with me."

Those green eyes I used to love so much, looked down at me with confusion and a bit of sadness. "That's not true, Mercy-"

"Don't _call_ me that. You lost that right."

I watched as he licked his lip, before taking in a deep breath. "Would you like to sit? Maybe we could talk."

I shook my head, keeping my stance. "No. Because, what ever you have to say to me, will only take a few seconds and then I can be on my way. _Why_ are you here?" I repeated a third time. "Don't make me ask again."

"I just thought…"

I immediately cut his sentence short. "You just thought _what, _Sam? That after three years of silence, and you thinking that I might be in trouble, you just want to come and see me for old times sake, huh?" I spat vindictively.

Again, he sighed, not completely making eye contact with me. "Mercy…Mercedes, that's not it. I just needed to know that you're ok."

I scoffed. Oh now he needed to know that I was ok. After three years, he wanted to know if I was ok?

"Well, Sam, as you can see I'm doing fine. And in twenty days, I'll be even better, when I get out of here. So, if you don't mind, I have to get ready to complain about a group hike I have to take." I said, quickly brush passing him to get back to the building, but was quickly stopped when he his calloused fingers grabbed my elbow.

"Mercedes," he whispered, pulling me closer to him. And I was _thisclose_ to breaking. But never again. "I am sorry about how we ended things. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you then, but I'm here for you now. I just thought you could use a friend."

He almost sounded sincere. But I had learn my lesson when it came to him. He was not going to charm his way back into my life. He didn't want to be in it three years ago, so why now? Screw him. I don't need him.

I looked up into his eyes. "Samuel Mark Evans, listen to me, carefully. You can take that weak and pathetic apology and shove it. Because frankly, I'm not buying it." I snapped snatching my elbow out of his grasp. "You can exit the way you entered. And don't bother coming back." I began to walk towards the building.

I told you I wasn't looking forward my first visitation day.

-  
_3 Years Ago..._

_Returning from a year long tour, I quickly hopped off my tour bus, saying goodbye to my friends, and made my way up the drive way to my luxurious Hollywood Hills home that I shared with my mother. I was so happy to finally get some time off to enjoy life. It had been so long and I just couldn't wait. _

_As I went to put the key into the door, surprisingly the door was unlocked and left cracked open._

_That was strange…we never left the door unlocked or opened. _

_I dropped my duffle bag to the ground and cautiously walked into my house._

_"Mom!" I called out. _

_But no answer._

_"Mama are you here?!" Again, I called out. _

_Still received no answer._

_And then I heard it…_

_A loud, piercing scream, followed by one, two, and then three gun shots._

_I quickly made my way over to where the noise came from in my living room. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach at the sight before me._

_"Mom…" I croaked. _

_Dropping to my knees, I crawled over to my mother who was lying in a pool of blood. Her blood._

_"Mom," I shook her lightly._

_But she didn't move._

_And then I noticed. Three holes. One in her shoulder. One in her stomach. And then other…_

_"Mommy?" I leaned over her, as the tears, spilled in buckets, cradling her in my arms. "Mommy, please say something. Please, don't…" The vomit churned in my gut. This wasn't real. It had to be a dream. A nightmare…_

_As she still hadn't moved, my now bloody fingers reached into my back pocket, pulling out my cell phone, and nervously dialed for emergency._

_"Mom, stay with me, I'm gonna get help." I cried, placing the phone up to my ear. _

_"I need some help, please…my mother…my…she's…she's been shot. Please help…she's dying…"_

_In an instant, I saw a dark shadow quickly move, followed by rustling of leaves. I stood up, quickly following the figure through the back door, which had also been left open. I looked around and saw nothing._

_"Who's there?" I said in a shaky tone._

_I felt movement behind me, and before I knew it, I quickly turned around, and a strong hand grabbed a hold of my neck._

"Nooooo…."

My eyes snapped open and I immediately sat up, breathing heavily.

I swallowed hard, still trying to catch my breath when I felt something touch my shoulder blade. I immediately, reacted by flinching and grabbing the wrist behind the touch.

"Hey, chill, chica. It's me, Santana."

I turned around and faced my supposed attacker, and it turned out to be my roommate. I let go of her wrist and, again, swallowed hard. I realized that I was now back at this crappy rehab center, and that I was having a nightmare.

Again…

"God, San, I'm so sorry." I ran my hand over my face, trying to get those images out of my head.

"Sabes qué, you've got a strong grip girl." She smirked, sitting on the edge of my bed, rubbing her wrist. And I tried to avoid eye contact with her. "Hey," she patted my knee, "it seems like these nightmares getting pretty bad. This is the fifth night in a row that you've woken up screaming half to death. Maybe you should have a talk with Dr. Watkins. I mean, she really helped me…"

I didn't have time to deal with this.

"Santana," I stopped her, "please don't. They are just nightmares. There's nothing that Dr. Watkins or anybody for that matter, can do to help me. Because I don't need help. Eventually the nightmares will go away. They always do. Now, if you don't mind, I want to go back to bed."

Santana sighed heavily. "Fine." She got up from my bed and went back to hers. I resituated myself underneath my blankets. "Hey, you know tomorrow's my last day right?" I grunted in response. "So, I kind of organized a group hike as a celebration for me making it a month sober. And I really want you to be there."

I scoffed. "I'm sorry, San. Hikes are not my thing."

"I promise you'll love it, Mercedes. The fresh air. The clear mind. Getting back to one with nature."

I turned over to face her. "Does it look like I want to get one with anything? Sorry, but no." I reached over and turned off the bedside lamp.

"Mercedes, please." She begged. "Do it for me?"

"My answer is no. And that's the end of this conversation." I turned back over, trying to get back to sleep.

But as I soon as I closed my eyes, those images flashed through my mind. I sucked in a deep breath, and quickly wiped away the stray tear that had fallen down my face.

-

_Hell…_

That's what exactly I'm in right now…_HELL_.

Gosh, it was so fucking hot out here. Man, LA can really freaking surprise you. One day it's beautiful and sunny, with a little breeze. Or it's shit storming like crazy. And then the next day…_bam_…it's like hell on Earth. I mean I could literally _fry_ a fucking egg on my head…

…Or maybe the real reason why this was hell could be the fact that I was carrying this thousand pound suitcase on my back and…hiking…up a _freaking_ hill.

Gosh, this was _torture_!

Why don't they just kill me right now? Just take on of those hiking sticks and whack me across the head with it. Or maybe they can just push me down that steep thingy to my left over there. Just get it over with. I mean I'm going to die anyway, you know, hiking up this fucking hill.

Yeah, so I actually got talked into this stupid hike thing. And now I was regretting my sudden change of heart.

Upon getting myself halfway up the hill, I spotted a huge boulder to my right. Oh, thank God. Letting the other losers continue their journey, I walked right over to that boulder, and I proceeded to sit my happy ass down. And once my happy ass hit the huge, solid rock, I felt the tension slowly easing away in my aching feet.

_Aah_, comfort.

Of course, I didn't even get comfortable all the way before I heard the sound of my name, piercing through my ears. I looked up and saw the blinding sun, and tons of fiery strands standing before me. Seriously, was I really in hell?

"Come on, Aretha, there is no time to waste, let's go." A caramel colored arm with red painted finger nails, reached down to grab my hand, and pulled me up.

Once I stand, I noticed that it's just Santana, my roommate, and the ringleader of this hell, pulling me to my feet. Yeah, since my blatant refusal to go hiking this morning, she had gotten into the habit of calling me by the names of the divas of R&B past. "Santana, what the hell are you doing? Can't you see I'm resting?" I pointed towards the boulder.

She smacked her lips, placing her hands on her slender hips. "Uh uh, Whitney. There is no time to rest, if we want to make it up the hill before lunch."

I sighed heavily. "How about you climb up that hill, and when you come back down, you can tell me all about it." I said, trying to sit back down. But before my butt hit the rock, I was being pulled up again. Man, for a tiny girl, she was really strong.

"Come on, Patti. You can do this. You need this. The fresh air will do you some good." Santana said, and I just roll my eyes at her. Didn't we have a conversation like this last night?

"You know what, Satan?" Yep, I gave her a nickname of her own. Let's see if she likes that. "I've gotten all of the fresh air I need right here." I flailed my arms around my surroundings. "I don't need to hike a up a hill to get it. Ok?" I sat back down on the boulder.

Once again she reached down to lift me up. "Don't make me go all East Compton on your ass. If you don't get your ass up this hill, I will have to carry you myself." Don't tell me that, Santana, I will make you live up to it. "I am not going to let you slack off. And besides it's my last day. Can you not be so selfish? Por favor."

I rolled my eyes at her. I know she wasn't trying to guilt trip me. "What the hell does climbing a fucking hill have to do with rehabilitation?"

She sighed heavily. "Like I said, Mariah, it's all about the fresh air."

"And like I told you, I've got all the fresh air I need right here." I pointed toward the ground. "And stop with the name calling."

"Stop being such a sourpuss, and walk up that damn hill."

Who the hell was calling a sourpuss?

"I don't want to." I folded my arms across my chest in protest. I was not walking up that hill. I won't do it. I refused to do it.

"You're such a big baby, Mercedes." The insults won't get you anywhere, Satan. "Just suck it up and do it."

I shook my head. "No."

She smacked her teeth yet again. "Fine. Do what you want." She walked away, trying to catch up with the other hill hikers.

And I just sat down on that boulder like I had first intended.

_19_ Days...

* * *

**Alright. Another chapter down. I hope you all read and enjoyed it. Thanks so much, again for reading it in the first place. I really do appreciate it.**

**Now what did you think of this one? We had some Samcedes action. Sam coming to visit and Mercedes shutting him down. Not good for Sam. What really happened between them? Why did Sam walk away? Mercedes is having nightmares about her mother's death. Ooh, that's not good at all. But she refuses to get help. Promises is turning out to not be a helpful thing for Mercedes right?**


	5. Breakthrough

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did, this show wouldn't stink as much! LOL!**

**A/N: Thanks so much you guys for your awesome reviews, favorites and follows. You guys are the best. Now onto the story.** **Maybe Mercedes walls are starting to break.**

* * *

A Week Later…

**-Mercedes**

"So, I hear that you refused to participate in the hiking activity last week, Mercedes. Why is that?" Dr. Watkins asked me as I sit in on another mind-numbing one-on-one session.

"Well, it was hot and I didn't feel like it." I countered bitterly.

Dr. Watkins sighed heavily. _Oooh, sounds like someone is a little frustrated_. Well, welcome to my world, sister. "Mercedes, why do you do this? I'm trying to help you, but all you've done is give me attitude, and push me away."

I rolled my eyes in anger. "You're not trying to help me. You're trying to pry into my personal business. I'm going to tell you like I told you in group therapy, on day one, if you really want to know about what's going on with me, buy a freaking magazine. 'Cause I ain't telling you shit." I get up from my seat, and stomped over to my favorite spot by the window.

I heard her smack her red stained lips together. "Oh, you mean personal business like a certain Mr. Sam Evans?" Oh, no she didn't. First my mom, and now _him_.

I whipped completely around towards her in anger. "What about _him_?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, I know that he came to see you last week, and had been trying to see you everyday since, but you've refused. I also know that you had a relationship with him. You two were engaged, am I right?" She brought her pen up to her lips, tapping them delicately.

I sighed deeply, turning back around to the window. "He's one person that I don't want in my life ever again."

"Why is that, Mercedes? What happened between you two?"

Again, I rolled my eyes and clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth. "We broke up." I told her in a nonchalant tone, while leaning up against the window seal.

"Why?" _Was she serious_?! "I'm saying, it seemed like this relationship was pretty serious. Four long years, plus an engagement. It must of have been something huge to tear you two apart."

I scoffed, turning around to face her. Well, someone did her homework. "Didn't you read? Little Mercy and Sammy decided, _mutually_, that they were just going in separate ways with their life." I spat quoting the famous line from every media outlet and tabloid magazine that heard about my break-up with Sam.

"I take it, by the tone in your voice, that's not what really happened." She still tapped her upper lip with the tip of her pen. Someone needed to tell her that _that_ was really annoying.

"Well, let's see, Sam went off and became a huge mega star, dating gorgeous actresses, and Little Mercy is stuck in rehab wanting to scream her _fucking_ head off. That pretty much screams _separate_ ways to me." I spitefully say. I was getting really sick of this and _her_.

"Mercedes, sarcasm is not going to get you anywhere." She told me disdainfully.

"What? Are you not having any fun?" I questioned her, folding my arms across my chest again. "Now you know exactly how I feel."

Dr. Watkins sighed, taking her glasses from the bridge of her nose, and placing them on top of her desk. "Mercedes, you have been here for little over two weeks now, and the most progress we've had, is -well basically none. I'm sorry to say this, but if you don't give me something, _anything_ remotely progressing towards a forward progress, I will be forced to recommend another thirty days here at Promises."

I know she didn't just say what I think she just said. "You wouldn't?! You can't!" She really wouldn't keep me in this hell hole for another month.

She nodded her head. "I _can_. And I _would_. Now, what happened between you and Sam, Mercedes?"

I said nothing. She was not going to get anything out of me.

"Mercedes what happened with you and Sam?"

Again silence…

Again silence…

"_What happened_, Mercedes?"

I swear she was not going to break me.

"I'm going to ask you one more time, Mercedes. What_ happened_ between you and Sam?"

"He _left_ me, ok!" I cracked. "_He_ left _me_. When I needed him more than ever, he just walked away from me. And there was nothing I could do, but watch him do it. Poor _heartbroken_, Mercedes. You _happy_ now?" I shook my head, holding back the tears that are burning the back of my eyes. "You know what? I'm done." I turn heel and head for the door.

I heard her sigh, as she stood to her feet. "Mercedes, _please_. Just talk to me. I can help you."

I stopped in my tracks, before slowly turning around. "Nobody can help me." I turned back around and walk out of her office.

I stomped angrily all the way back to my room. Slamming the door shut, in a huff, I use the back heel of my tennis shoe to kick the door firmly, three times before sliding down to the floor, and curling myself into a ball, pulling my knees up to my chest.

I sob quietly.

I hate her. I _really_ hate her.

I hated that she forced me to open up that old wound that I've tried so hard to heal. I hate that she did this to me.

For three years, I had suppressed my thoughts of him, my feelings, everything that reminded me of him. I had pushed them away. And in the span of several days everything that I had gotten rid of, were all coming back to me in one full blow. Him visiting me last week was a knife in my heart and Dr. _Witchzilla_ making me crack under pressure was twisting the knife further.

Right now, I just wanted to scream my head off. I didn't want to be here anymore.

I _wanted_ to go home.

I _wanted_ my old life back.

I _wanted_ my friends.

I _wanted_ my family.

But most of all, what I _wanted_ was my mom back.

There had to be some way for me to get out of here.

* * *

**-Sam**

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Evans. Miss Jones is still not accepting your request for a visit_."

I sighed heavily in agitation. "Is there anyway, at all, for that request to be lifted? I just…I really need to see her." I really hated begging, but Mercedes refusing to me is really not sitting well with me.

"_Again, Mr. Evans, I apologize for your inconvenience. Here at Promises we do a lot to try to make sure that our patients are as comfortable as possible. Anything that tries to interfere with their progress, we try not to let it get in the way. Especially because of Miss Jones' status with the public. And at the request of Miss Jones, she only has a selected few on her visitor's list_."

I swallowed painfully hard, letting this woman's words sink in. Mercedes really didn't want to see me. I mean, she had complete reason to, but I was hoping that there was a sliver of a chance that she would change her mind. "Thank you for your help."

"_You have a good evening, Mr. Evans_."

"Yeah, you too." I mumbled before disconnecting the call. I tossed the phone down onto my coffee table, running a hand through my hair. "She _black-listed_ me." I said, turning to Mike as he returned from the kitchen with two beers in his hand.

"Who?" He handed me one.

"Mercedes." I answered, taking a long sip. "You know I have been trying to schedule another visit with her. But every time I call, they tell me, I'm not on her list. Whatever the _fuck_ that means." I took another sip, this one longer than the first. "She's so determined not to see me that she had put me on her _do not disturb_ list. I'm her morning telemarketer. Apparently, I will distract her from her progression."

"Well, they're right." I quickly turned to side eye the fuck out of my supposedly best friend. "Look, Sam, you're my best friend. So, you know I'm not gonna sugar coat this shit for you. From what you told me about the last visit, which lasted all of ten minutes. Eight, of which, you spent checking in." And your point? "You said she barely spoke to you. Barely even looked you in the eye. Just let her recover in peace. And from what I heard, she ain't doing too good."

I finished the rest of my beer, placing the empty bottle next to my phone, now letting Mike's words sink in. "Maybe you're right." And then the last thing he said, played back in my mind. "Wait a minute? How do you know Mercy ain't doing too good." Again side eyeing the fuck out of him. What ever he knew, he needed to spill. But he just sipped his beer, looking off to the side. _Really_, Mike? _Really_? "Oh, no, Bro. You were just flapping your gums thirty seconds ago, don't try to play _mutey_ the mime now. How do you know that Mercedes ain't doing good?" Again, he ignored me, his beer bottle becoming more interesting to him. "_Seriously_, Mike." I reached over and socked him in his right arm.

He huffed, grabbing his arm. "Fine, I heard it from Tina." He then reached over and hit me. "Dude, don't hit me."

I was about to get my revenge, when his words hit me instead. _Tina knew_?! My Sammy senses were beginning to tingle. I sense fuckery. "And how the hell does _Tina_ know this?"

"I'm not supposed to say." Mike shied away, again, staring down at his finished beer.

"Really _now_?" Ok. He wants to play like that? Well, two can play this game. "Ok, fine, Mike. Don't tell me. But I really think that Tina would be very interested in hearing a little story, that I know about her precious, Mike."

That got his attention. "What story?"

I smacked my lips together in annoyance. "Well, it's about a certain someone's fiancé's twenty first birthday involving a Vegas hooker."

Mike's face paled. "You wouldn't?"

I smirked at him. "Tell me how Tina knows about Mercedes and this story will go with me to the grave."

His dark eyes, darkened even more. "Not cool, Bro. Blackmail is not your forte."

"Try me and find out."

"She heard it from, Kurt." He seethed, and I gave another smirk at my awesome victory. "I _hate_ you right now."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You'll get over and live. Now when was this?"

"Last week. They had lunch, to catch up on old times. And the topic of Mercedes just so happen to come up." _Right_! And I'm the Easter Bunny. "It's just that, Tina feels guilty about what's going on with Mercedes?"

What? "Why would she feel guilty?"

Mike sighed heavily, sitting his empty bottle next to mine. "Because, when you and Mercy broke up, it was kind of like a divorce. Your assets got divided down the middle. She got Kurt, and Blaine _because_ of Kurt. And you got me, and Tina _because_ of me. She just feels like she could have been a better friend to Mercedes."

I really wanted to kick my own ass. Why was I such a fucking douche? "I screwed things up pretty bad."

Mike shrugged. "It is what it is, Sam. You can't change the past."

"Yeah." Boy, do I wish I could. And before I could say anything else, my phone started ringing. "Give me a second." I didn't recognize the number, but I answered anyway. "Hello?"

"_Is this Sam Evans_?" A woman's voice sounded in my ear.

"Who's asking?"

She cleared throat. "_My name is Dr. Leslie Watkins. I am a psychiatrist at Promises Rehab Center. To my knowledge you know a patient of mine. You were a close friend of Miss Mercedes Jones, am I correct_?"

That got my attention. "_Friend_ would be an understatement. Look, I don't want to sound rude, Dr. Watkins, but how can I help you? Mercedes has already refused to see me a good dozen times now. I don't think I can take anymore rejection." If this is one person telling me I couldn't see Mercedes, I was gonna flip my shit. I didn't need that.

"_I know about her refusal to see you, Mr. Evans_." She cleared her throat again. "_Without breaking my oath on doctor-patient confidentiality, I was just wondering if you can spare a few minutes of your time_."

I turned to Mike with a look of confusion on my face. "Ok…sure." What the hell was this about?

* * *

**-Alrighty folks, another chapter down! So, how was it? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did Mercedes make you want to punch a whole in the wall? LOL!**

**-It looks like Dr. Watkins has finally had a breakthrough with Mercedes. Do you think it would be easier now to get through to her? **

**-Sam and Mike, I love their friendship.**

**-Dr. Watkins called Sam O.o! What's going on there?**

**-Thank you again for being awesome! I hope you enjoyed this one. And I promise Samcedes interaction next chapter. More questions will be answered.**

**-Sorry for any errors!**


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